My Monsieur Winkelmann's story is a rather grand and sentimental one for me. I decided that the best way to tell his story and share him with you, is to return to the blog archives for a couple of posts that tell the story easier than I could at the moment.
You see, after the fire one of the first things I did was to sit and play Moon River on my Monsieur. The keys were blackish and a little icky, but he played and sounded just fine to me (none of the crashing plywood sounds that I experienced in New Orleans with my spinet after Katrina).
Any day that I went to the Chatette, I played my Monsieur. We serenaded our Sammie Cat with Moon River immediately after I buried her in her special spot in the garden. It was important.
Even so, one day as the decontamination was beginning someone walked past the piano and screamed: "Le piano est mort!" I was there and screamed back: "Non, I can't do anything about Sam but my piano stays!" That comment was only a foreshadowing of what was to come, but it gave me time to consider what I would do if that were the case. I decided that no matter what-My Monsieur Winkelmann Stays!
Shortly before I returned to the states, an "expert" came to the Chatette and told me that it would cost 10,000 euros to repair my Monsieur. I burst into tears on the front porch. But, I have a plan and it made me even more determined. My Monsieur stays.
Here is the beginning of OUR story:
2/24/2009-The second book on my beam is "The Piano Shop on the Left Bank-Discovering a Forgotten Passion in a Paris Atelier", by Thad Carhart.
This book was a Christmas present from my friend Father Henry Willenborg. Father Henry has this uncanny way of saying and doing just the right things at exactly the right time. (We became friends when he was providing pastoral care at Project Lazarus in New Orleans with people living with HIV and AIDS.) I don't think he knew it, but this Christmas present turned into an amazing piece to the puzzle of my full-time life here in France.
I began taking piano lessons when I was 9 years old. Between my Mom and Grandma, I was able to get a new Baldwin spinet piano and take lessons every week till I turned 14 or so. I could have continued, but at that age I decided to give up piano for pom-poms when I made our junior high squad. I still played. (It's hard to resist Mom when she yells "Play Moon River" from the kitchen.) Eventually, I brought my piano from St. Louis to New Orleans and began playing every morning.
I remember standing in the the empty Chatette for the first time thinking: "This is the perfect place for a piano!" I pondered piano here on and off, but it didn't make any sense since I wasn't here all the time. Pianos need to be played. My piano from Grandma sat in 6 inches to a foot of water when the levees broke in New Orleans. When I knew we were going to be here in France full time, I told everyone I knew that I wanted a piano.
My friend Yves Jolly said that he had a friend who has an atelier in Paris where he sells, builds, and repairs pianos, and that he might have something I'd be interested in. It just so happened that Yves friend, Philippe Jolly (no relation) and his family have a summer place here in the valley so we were able to meet the summer of 2006. He had sent me pictures of the used baby grand "Winkelmann", so I invited him over to see the Chatette and talk with me about where it would fit, how it would get here and price.
We talked about the "soul of inanimate things"...rocks, pianos, the Chatette, and how I wanted to be sure that the piano I chose would fit in here and be happy with us too. He smiled. With no piano yet, I kept my sheet music on a hand-carved antique book/music stand by the door.
As Philippe walked out, he picked up my piece of "Moon River" and then must have noticed Bogart and Bergman on another piece because he left whistling "As Time Goes By". I'd made plans to go to Paris at the end of September to see and play the Winkelmann and make my decision. As you can imagine, that decision was already made.
Carhart's book was special for me because of pianos and Paris, but also because of the passion and serendipity with which his story unfolds. He too, talks about the history and romance of pianos and their so many stories to tell. And his "Luc", who loves and touches each piano as if it were a 2-legged love of his life! He very clearly states in the acknowledgments of the book: "Please don't try to find Luc or Mathilde or any of the others; they are not waiting to be discovered." And goes on to admonish: "Go find your own Luc!"
When I went to Paris that September, I mentioned the book to Msr. Jolly. He told me that he was familiar with it. I'd brought "Moon River" with me to play and did, but it was when Msr. Jolly sat down and played "Moon River" for me that my tears flowed and I knew the Winkelmann would be living with us.
When we finished our arrangements that afternoon, I closed the door to Msr. Jolly's atelier to spend the rest of the day soaking up the Paris I love, before I had to catch the midnight train back to Cahors.
I had plans to make my pilgrimages to Véra's old quartier in Montmartre and visit La Tête and St. Eustache to light my merci candles. I was lucky. It was a beautiful sunny day.
The children were out playing as I passed the grade school on my way to the Denefert-Rochereau Metro Station. I smiled. I was happy to be in Paris again, reconnecting with my old friend.
I was thinking that day that I had found my "Luc", but today I know that I was even luckier...my "Luc" found me in the Lot.
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